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21 January 2015

The Lady of the Lift

Photo credit: homelift.com

We spent most of our time in India
on this trip, in Bombay. Once the wedding and its associated madness was
over, S and I found ourselves busy with a lot of other stuff that
needed to be taken care of - housing society woes, bank issues,
insurance policies... It meant that we had to move from Thane to the
western suburbs (praise be to whichever higher power is up there!) where
we had originally lived.

Even
though we owned a flat there, it was given out on rent. And so, we
found ourselves having to rent a flat ourselves. Talk about life's
ironies. Now, taking young A with us everywhere we went meant that we
would be slowed down, and unable to finish at least 75% of the tasks we
had set ourselves.

It
was then that our niece came to our rescue. She lives in Bandra, and
even before we had moved back into the suburbs, called to find out when
she could come and kidnap young A. Talk about blessings! After I made
the usual noises about not wanting to disturb her, and her avowals that
she wouldn't be disturbed and, on the contrary, looked forward to
having him spend the days with her, we decided that he would be dropped
off at her house in the mornings before we began our frantic running
around, and pick him up in the evening after we were done. Of course, I
enquired about whether it was okay with her every single day before we
dropped him off. (I guess I couldn't fathom someone who was so eager for
young A's company that she would willingly offer to keep him there -
day after day.)

In any case, that is the background.

The
first day, my niece picked A up from near where we were staying. We
went to her house in the evening to pick him up. She lives in a very
nice housing society in Bandra, close enough to all the conveniences,
but nestled in a quiet, leafy lane that kept much of the noise of the
city away. It was an older society and so, the lift was still the
old-fashioned kind - the one with two iron grills that have to be closed
before you can operate the lift.

We haven't
been in one of those for ages, and so, when we opened the inner grill,
we were taken aback by a sepulchral voice imploring us earnestly: 'Please close the door. Kripaya darwaaza bandh keejiye.' Barely
had I composed myself,
when the lift stopped at her floor. We opened the grills only to be stopped in our tracks by the same message. Leaving me to wonder aloud how they
expected us to get out of the lift if we were supposed to keep the doors closed all the time!

This went on for two weeks. It
got to a point where I was ready to take the stairs each time, if only
to escape that disembodied voice! S decided that it would be far better to
make one of his 'pomes' about it. Perhaps that would lay the 'ghost' to
rest. (No, it didn't work.)

But I got a 'pome' out of it, and so, here, after a very long time indeed, is one of Sadu's Laments.

The Lady of the Lift

On a warm winter’s day

In the city of Bombay

Auto-rickshawing to our niece’s flat

Little did we know we were to meet

Something that we’d rather not greet

But t’was fate and that was that.

While making way into our niece’s dwelling

There for the day, our son we were parking

On entering the lift to get to her floor

We heard a voice agitatedly say

“Please close the door.Kripaya darwaaza bandh keejiye.”

Up the elevator we were elevated

And we think we should have anticipated

That as we exited the lift door

We would heard the voice anxiously essay

“Please close the door.Kripaya darwaaza bandh keejiye.”

On leaving the flat we braced ourselves

Now forewarned, but, like nervous gazelles

We started as the voice once more

Shrieked into our ears; aye,

“Please close the door.Kripaya darwaaza bandh keejiye.”

So now each visit was pre-pended

And not to forget appended

And whereas in other visits before

We had never been harried away

Now it was all “Please close the door.Kripaya darwaaza bandh keejiye.”

Certainly a woman with an axe to grind

Doors were to be shut, not open, mind

I’m not certain she would eschew gore

She seemed to be willing to slay

If you didn't get,“Please close the door.Kripaya darwaaza bandh keejiye.”

Ha, ha! I'd like to borrow the idea. Our flat in Bangalore has a similar lift and somebody is always leaving the door improperly closed so that you have to charge upstairs or downstairs and shut the door tight. A disembodied voice might help everyone remember.

:) at least you got a lovely 'pome' out of it ! There is always a silver lining... I am often in a lift that keeps reminding me ' there are no cashiers at the parking exits......' And 5th floor, there are no cashiers.... 4th floor, there are no cashiers... 3rd floor, and it goes on.......

Yes we've been there before.There are no cashiers on any floor.Nor at the parking exitsso if you need to visitleave your car at the door,for the Boston police to tow.It might be cheaper to paythe towing fine for a dayrather than the daily parking price.These Boston city garages aren't nice.

Hello Anu's husband! You'll be pleased to know that these old lifts are still very much in use in our cities, Paris for instance. My daughter lived in the 15th arrondissement and there was such a lift! It didn't have the voice though, which paradoxically made it a little more human. Here's a funny video with a voice, enjoy!! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sAz_UvnUeuU

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